Visiting Hours
by Amledo
Summary: For Bruce, he had to be Jack. At least in the other man's moment of most desperate need. Bruce had been human for one night, and it had nearly cost him everything.


(A/N: Wow, I have been out of this fandom for way too long. It almost feels weird coming back to it. But I still don't own it so don't start asking for hand outs. What we have here is a bit of Batsy/Joker or Bruce/Jack. So that means slash, and if you can't stand it then I can't stress enough how you shouldn't be here. On with the show!)

Visiting Hours

The hallway was no more than 25 yards long, but it seemed to stretch and extend to an impossible distance in front of him. He knew of course that it was a purely psychological reaction to the situation he knew to be waiting for him. Once he'd managed to traverse the distance he would be faced with a reality that he wasn't sure he could handle. But he had no choice; he wouldn't allow fear to dissuade him. Sucking in a shuddering breath he gave his outfit an unnecessary dust off and straightening before quickly covering the expanse of tile leading to room 315 of Gotham General Hospital.

While under normal circumstances he was not a timid man (not by any means) he also was not his usual self at that moment. He wore civilian clothing, not ragged by any means, but the button down shirt and slacks fit him about as well as a dress. His hair had been combed after a dye job to return it to the appropriate shade of brown and a thorough washing. His face had been scrubbed clean with a vigor and harshness rivaling his late mother's pre-dinner efforts to render him free of dirt. The name tag that declared him a visitor was currently fitted with a piece of paper that said his name was Jack Napier. When he had requested it, with his proper ID, he had wondered if anyone would recognize it. He half expected that even clean, someone would recognize his face.

Trembling for no good reason, he hesitated at the door, for a moment unsure of why he was risking doing this or if at this stage in the venture, really could back out. No, he told himself with a resigned sigh, not seeing it wouldn't make it any less real. There was no need to be a coward and there wasn't much of a chance that anyone in there would punish him for his presence. It turned his stomach as he knocked on the door; even that gesture was resigned, laced with apprehension.

"Come in," a voice, young and timid, certainly not that of the patient called out and he gladly accepted the allowance. The sight he met with however was like a knife in his gut that slowly twisted, seeking to eviscerate him. His heart thudded awkwardly and his breathing hitched. Suddenly his mouth had gone dry and against his will, his knees gave way, the floor came at him so fast that he didn't understand the blur of color.

"No…no, no…no," the words rasped out of his throat and burning hot tears stung at his eyes. He hadn't cried since his Mother died, but it seemed that he couldn't help himself. The boy, young, courageous Tim Drake only 15 years old sat huddled up in a chair that seemed too big for his little bones, his eyes were swollen and red when he turned them on Jack. Beside him was a man in the earlier years of his 20's and he looked, if possible, more broken than the boy. Dick Greyson's normally severe face was soft with fear and sadness, nothing of Nightwing had been summoned to help him. An older man, prim and refined and by no means frail in his old age sat on the other side of the bed, Alfred was the only one who knew who he was.

It was Alfred that rose and helped Jack to his feet.

"Master Jack, please, have a seat," Alfred's voice was mechanical at best as he patted Jack's hair. While it was probably a new experience for the butler to have a man in his late 30's crying on his chest, he didn't let it bother him. He silently helped Jack to the seat closest to the bed and sat down again. Jack's eyes were so clouded with tears that he'd never have made it himself.

Once the quiet tears began to subside he realized that the chair he sat in did not match the set in the room. Someone had requested it for him and placed it close, just where he needed to be. Since entering the room he had been avoiding the bed with his eyes; that was suddenly impossible.

Bruce Wayne lie almost perfectly still, grey and almost lifeless on the stark white of the bed, the slight movements of his chest came with the assistance of a machine. There was a tube in Bruce's mouth that looked to have recently been moved from the bandaged wound on his neck. Jack knew that the other man's throat had been partially crushed in the assault, but he honestly didn't expect for him to have been so gravely wounded. The bandages that covered most of his torso were slightly stained a brownish red from hours old blood. They had succeeded in repairing the holes from the gunshot wounds, but it was the internal damage that had led to the 15 hour surgery that saved the man's life.

Jack stared in stark wonder (a kind he never hoped to experience again) at the sheer volume of injustice that had been perpetrated on the other man. But the surgeons had done their job, they had saved him even through the assailants had done their level best to finish the billionaire off. It pained him to his very soul that the sight before him existed not because Bruce had been Batman, but simply because he had been Bruce. The one human night the devoted vigilante had allowed himself in nearly a year had almost killed him.

As the night wore on, Alfred sent Dick to take Tim back to the manor, they needed their rest. Even though Jack and Alfred knew that neither boy nor young man would go to sleep that night, it was a step toward normal. Jack watched the pair leave, Dick's arm protectively around Tim's torso. He was astounded that neither of them had questioned his presence. How did they know that he wasn't there to finish Bruce off?

"Are you prepared to stay the night, Master Jack?" Alfred's voice was deceptively calm; Jack could see the bone deep weariness though.

"They couldn't drag me away," Jack said truthfully and if his conviction shocked the older man, it certainly wasn't something that he acknowledged. But he knew in his heart that he couldn't leave Bruce to suffer alone. That was not something that a man in love would ever do to his partner.

"That is good to hear. He has feared that you would leave him were he to show weakness," Alfred said plainly, his eyes on Jack. There was no way that he didn't see the shock displayed on the younger man's face, or the way that it drew itself into a look of sorrow.

"I love him more dearly than he allows himself to think. Nothing short of his outright rejection could send me away, he knows that. It's just…for all of his supposed ego, he doesn't believe himself deserving of much at all," Jack replied to what had not so much been a question as a search for validation. He breathed uncomfortably and attempted to stifle tears once again. Jack was most certainly the weaker personality; he didn't have the same defenses that the Joker did.

"For once I understand you perfectly. Now, Master Jack, I shall go and inform them that Bruce's partner will be staying the night with him. I will be back inside the hour with something for you to eat. You will need your energy if you intend to stay around for awhile," Alfred said in a soft tone, his hand resting on Jack's shoulder in reassurance. Jack gave him a weak nod, his eyes fixed on Bruce's face, and Alfred knew the effort Jack took to sustain. But it seemed that he trusted the younger man's devotion to Bruce enough to leave him alone with the billionaire. Jack didn't watch the butler leave the room.

"Oh Brucey, love, how could someone do this to you? You're on guard when you sleep for God's sake. Please, please just be okay," Jack said after a long period of silence, his voice was a desperate whimper. His eyes trailed to the hand that he so badly wanted to hold but couldn't for the wires connected to it and the needle in the back.

He was Jack, more completely and easily than he'd ever been since the loss of his wife and child, and he hadn't cried for them. No, Bruce had the power to draw the Joker out of him like venom from a wound and leave Jack in control. But not even the memory of Bruce or Batman would stay the Joker if his lover died. Jack was Bruce's lover as much as Joker was Batman's, as beings they were almost entirely reliant on each other. If Bruce and Batman were gone…the gears were turning in the back of Jack's mind. He knew that he was capable of destroying every criminal in Gotham in search of vengeance, and that was likely the precise course of action he would resort to.

"I can see it working in your mind. You must forget that I have raised one of the most cryptic, brooding men the world has ever known. You are quite a bit easier to read than he is. He wouldn't want you to do it, you realize," the old man spoke softly, his voice without judgment or harshness. Jack hadn't heard him return and accepted the relatively large lunch box Alfred had packed with quiet thanks.

"I know that. I do know that. And I wouldn't expect him to forgive me for it. I know that he has forgiven my past, and that alone has granted my heart and soul a peace I've never deserved. But what I would seek to do if I lost him, it would be an active decision to return to what he has tried so hard to contain. This time there would be no madness to forgive, I am Jack, and Jack would do this. He wouldn't be the same man if he just forgave that," Jack said and felt the old venom creep up in his heart. The Joker had been tame for nearly four years, committing only minor crimes, no injuries or fatalities involved, Batman's heart had ensured that. Alfred's hand rested heavily on his shoulder, a restraining reminder of what he would be giving up to let Joker run wild again.

"I can't grant you forgiveness on his part, but I can say that however unfortunate a course of action, it is largely understandable," Alfred said quietly, a father granting some bit of clemency for a wayward son's future actions. He silently released Jack's shoulder and smoothed Bruce's hair affectionately before leaving to get some sleep.

Jack ate only because Bruce would have wanted it that way; Alfred was an excellent cook after all. While he didn't eat as much as he should have, he felt that no one would blame him and carefully set the rest of the food aside. It was his job to keep vigil over Bruce, and he would not fail in it. He did not sleep, he did not consider it. It wasn't until Alfred ordered him to bed that he obeyed.

To the unending relief of every criminal in Gotham, Bruce was out of the hospital and functioning in just over two month's time. Jack had so rarely left his side that he had nearly become a fixture of the hospital. On waking Bruce had been privy to Alfred shouting in a rather undignified manner at Jack about proper sleep and nutrition. He had amusedly dismissed Alfred's concerns and then said hello, then he had apologized.

"Dick has been wearing the suit, don't even look at me. I've been good," Jack said as Bruce looked at him sternly, the article he had been reading was titled 'Batman's Increasing Brutality' and covered several major incidents. Of course the next page read 'Joker in Retirement: Two Clown-Free Months and Counting'. "Now that one you ought to be proud of," Jack smirked brightly and poked the article with his finger.

"You didn't go on a murderous rampage? I'm shocked, and almost offended. But proud. What stopped you?" Bruce said softly and Jack gave him a sad little smile, his voice wasn't likely to ever recover.

"I still had hope. You were going to wake up and I was going to be there for you. I mean Alfred was right; it wasn't what you would have wanted. And…you never would have been able to forgive me. I'd be lost; all over again…I…Don't worry. I'll be back to threatening mobsters as soon as I trust myself not to go overboard at the mere thought of what happened," Jack said, a small but pleased smile on his lips.

"So, never?" Bruce questioned, a smile made his face seem much healthier.

"Right," Jack replied in a peppy tone and kissed Bruce on the cheek before helping him to his feet. His recovery would have gone better but for the sheer volume of injuries to internal organs, muscle damage and chipped bones. As strong as Bruce was he still needed more time, physical therapy took up most hours of his day and Jack was right beside him.

(A/N: Well there it goes. I don't know why I can't help writing Joker's duality or one or the other of them being injured…it is strange. Well, leave me a review if you can!)


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